THE GREAT UNKNOWN

The midnight wake-up call signalled a welcome end to my sleepless stupor. Double mountaineering boots are stubborn to get into at the best of times, but after a short struggle, I was crawling through the cramped tent vestibule into the tempest beyond. The cold air hit first, closely followed by the feeling of heavy snow landing on my unprotected face. Illuminated by the harsh beam of my headlamp, conditions looked grim. We were camped at 5,500m upon a snow-covered moraine, in an unnamed glacial valley that had likely never entertained human guests before. Braced against the maelstrom, I started towards the mess tent, fully assuming the impending summit attempt would be cancelled. Inside, however, was a hive of activity: packing, checking equipment, filling bottles with freshly boiled water, steamy porridge disappearing into mouths. OK, so we’re still going. A nasty gastro-incident-hangover had rendered my ability to consume food severely limited, but I forced down a few lousy, heavily sugar-sweetened spoonfuls, knowing that what was coming required fuel.

It was still snowing heavily as we approached the fixed lines and began climbing. The dizzying wall of rock and ice disappeared into the inky blackness above, disappeared into the unknown.

FOR A VERY LONG TIME, I feared I was born too late. I believed the potential for true exploration had long passed. Now, however, after that night of staring up at that inky void, after the journey it took to arrive at that point, I know better. While technology and development have worked tirelessly to connect and reveal the entire planet, quiet corners stubbornly remain. No, the age of exploration is not over. Not by a long shot.

Now, I am hardly a groundbreaking explorer of repute, but still, I search. I want the unknown. Looking back, it’s difficult to pinpoint where this desire originated. In any event, a combination of a rural, outdoorsy upbringing and a voracious